


Writhing Towards An Unforeseen Divination

by TLynn



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TLynn/pseuds/TLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But there was nothing to convince her there was a reason for his death..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writhing Towards An Unforeseen Divination

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place right after the events of 'This Is Not Happening', ends during the events of 'DeadAlive'.

For the first week, all she could do was cry. Days were long and   
nights were restless, the tiny life she grew in her belly the only   
force keeping her from falling into madness. Each time she ate, most   
of it refused to digest, instead creeping back up until she was   
forced to expel it into the toilet at some early morning hour.

Her mother called daily, her doctor was worried, Doggett paid   
bi-weekly visits, and aside from phoning to inform her of the 10-day   
bereavement period she was being allowed, Skinner kept his distance.   
Mrs. Scully even sent Father McCue over, but she quickly dismissed   
him, instead preferring to grieve without anyone's company, even   
that of God's.

Dana Scully was never one to believe in fate or destiny. She refused   
to accept that her path was already set out for her, whether it be   
by some unknown and unseen force or her own parents, and she was   
proud of the direction she had taken herself in the time she had   
been on this planet. But at the same time, she clung to the belief   
that everything happened for a reason. There was a reason she went   
into medicine, there was a reason she met Jack and Daniel, and   
there was a reason she pursued a career with The Bureau. There was   
a reason she was partnered with Mulder, there was a reason she   
believed his stories, and there was a reason she fell in love with   
him.

But there was nothing to convince her there was a reason for his   
death. Fox Mulder wasn't ready to die. There had been some terrible   
mistake; some order had been passed down incorrectly in the chain   
of command. They, she and Mulder, had so much more to accomplish,   
seek out, and prove. Didn't They realize that? How could They not   
see what They were destroying when They took him away?

He was always the one who excelled at guilt and self-deprecation.   
She could see it in his eyes so often, mixed with the natural hazel   
color and making them deeper and darker than any man's should be.   
Eugene Tooms, Duane Barry, Donnie Pfaster, her cancer, the FBI,   
Alex Krycek, Cancer Man, the Bounty Hunter, Skinner, and Them;   
the list was endless. Enemies appeared to them from far away and   
from their own backyards, and he always blamed himself where she   
was concerned. Even if she got a paper cut while riffling through   
a stack of files, he seemed to beat himself up about it. She could   
never get it through his thick skull that she was there right   
beside him because she wanted to be.

Now, she could hear his voice in her head, becoming her own. 'If   
only I had gotten there a minute earlier', 'If only I had ran   
faster, pushed myself harder', 'If only I had never slept, never   
stopped looking'. She bore the heavy weight first of his   
disappearance, and now of his death. The words repeated over and   
over in her head, preventing her from coherent thoughts and fluid   
emotion.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

* * *

As she stood in the kitchen, swallowing the last bite of her bagel   
while pulling on her blue blazer, she just happened to glance at   
the small calendar that was affixed to the refrigerator door.

Yesterday had marked the one-month anniversary of his death. And   
she hadn't even realized it.

She suddenly felt light-headed and backed a few paces until she   
reached a dining room chair to sit down on. Her head swam and her   
body shook as it hit her over and over, its hard edges slamming   
into her most sensitive spots without mercy. She wrapped her arms   
instinctively around her now-round belly and tried with all her   
might to grab onto the being that lived inside.

Had it really been a whole month? How could she have forgotten?   
Daily life had pushed its way back into her consciousness and   
distractions naturally followed, but she felt she owed it to him   
not to ever forget.

It happened slowly. There were reminders everywhere, in every   
object in the office, in most areas of her apartment, in cafes   
and restaurants all over DC. The first week back in a routine was   
the most difficult and she truly wondered if she was going to be   
able to stand it. But soon, a day would pass when thoughts of him   
were brief and random. Then two days of paperwork, three days of   
research, until four days of interviews left her neck stiff and   
her body weary, only thoughts of grilled cheese sandwiches   
and a soft bed finding room in her exhausted mind.

She hated herself. She hated that she was forgetting; she hated   
that she was able to go on with her life, pregnant with their   
child, while his body was deep in the ground. She felt she was   
betraying him, once again watching helplessly as he slipped   
through her fingers.

Suddenly, she felt movement in her abdomen. She smiled in spite   
of herself at the still-new sensation of her baby moving inside   
of her. It felt like a goldfish swimming or a butterfly flying,   
something magical and wonderful that only mother and baby could   
ever share.

"I'm sorry, baby," she whispered. "I'm letting go..."

* * *

She dreamed of him that night. Later, she wouldn't remember all   
the images her subconscious unearthed, but faint recollections and   
fleeting pictures during a restless sleep would drift amid her   
thoughts.

His cold skin and stiff body, expressionless face, and closed   
lids; the image of her dead lover flashed like a strobe in the   
back round of her dreamscape. She wandered the field, calling his   
name. She saw movement ahead and sprinted ahead, her cheeks red   
from the cold night. A small clearing amidst a cluster of shrubs   
held her answer and she fell to her knees as she saw his form.

He was tinier than she had imagined he would be, and his skin was   
fairer, his hair darker. Her hand went to her flat belly and felt   
it churning, her eyes never leaving the still form. She couldn't   
remember and she began to panic. How had he died? She struck   
herself hard on the head, forcing herself to remember. But she   
couldn't. She couldn't remember delivering him; she couldn't   
remember even holding him.

Anguish filled her being and she crouched over in physical and   
emotional pain. She failed them both now. She failed herself.   
She snapped her head up and stared into the heavens, willing Them   
to come back and face her once again. She tried to scream, but   
had no voice, had no tears, and she fell to the ground. They   
would come; she could feel it. So she waited.

The phone stirred her from her consuming nightmare. Her heart   
pounded rapidly in her chest as she came back to consciousness   
and tears threatened to spill down her flushed cheeks. Their son   
shifted vigorously inside her. At almost seven months along, he   
often did, but this time it was almost painful. She stopped and   
focused on controlling her breathing for a moment, the phone still   
ringing on her bedside table.

"Hello?" she said, finally answering on the eighth ring.

"It's Skinner," the Assistant Director's voice boomed through the   
receiver. "You need to come to Annapolis."

"Why?"

"Now, Dana," he said.

Something in his voice made her shake. She didn't dare believe it,   
even for a moment. Everything she had ever been taught, ever   
believed, went against it. She winced slightly as her baby kicked   
against her forcefully.

"Now," Skinner said again. "To the Naval Hospital."

"Sir?" she asked, her voice a shaky whisper, tears spilling out   
beneath her closed lids.

He paused for what seemed like an eternity. She could sense the   
conflict that raged inside him, his doubts and disbeliefs, his   
concern and hope.

"Yes, Dana. He's home."

* * * *   
end

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my Beta Goddess, Robin, who is my greatest cheerleader.


End file.
